Three Months
by Helvetica Black
Summary: Three months. Not too long of a time, Ron thought, but it had been long enough. (A oneshot on what would have happened if Ron stayed away for too long in DH)


_When love dies, _  
_It ceases to exist._  
_And the flame that used to be, _  
_Ceases to persist._

* * *

Seven years was certainly longer than just three measly months, Ron Weasley couldn't help but think to himself over and over again. Three months were only sixty bloody days, compared to what, two thousand five hundred and fifty-five days? Seven years... that was more, bloody definitely more, than three — just _three_, and not a single day longer — months. Granted, Ron hadn't spent every single one of those blasted two thousand five hundred and fifty-five days with the bloke — Ron had a life too, after all, but he bloody well might have done just that, with all the camaraderie and commitment and _risk_, that he had invested in this whole... thing.

Ron decided that it was unfair. Three months, blimey, that was not even half as long as the time it took to finish a pregnancy. Surely not even nearly as long as the time it took for him to come to a decision to finally tell everyone about the woman he realized he loved, and when he began to love her, and _why_.

No, three months, even converted into dog years, was not entirely _that_ long.

But it had been long enough.

His face must have been a sight that time, caught between surprise and betrayal and horror, as he looked at something he never thought possible, as he saw what might not have been possible _at all_, if he had never even left.

Harry and Hermione.

Harry _with_ Hermione.

At any other time — or circumstance — Ron would have acted like the pigheaded prat that he always appeared to be and exploded into a rage of _how could you_ and _you knew I liked her _and _you bloody self-serving thief, I should never have joined your horcrux hunt bullocks_, but as it was he had been too shocked to be in any way angry. In fact, prior to his (unexpected) return, he'd been contemplating between one heartfelt apology and another, trying to figure out the best (and least painful) way to get back in his friends' good graces. He'd been repentant before he stumbled upon... _them_. So to go from that state of thoughtful remorse, to a state of full-blown irrational _fury_? Not even Ronald Weasley was _that_ mental.

What he _did_ feel, though, after he recovered from his initial surprise, was shame. Total, unadulterated _shame_. It wasn't often that he beat Harry in anything — in fact, when Ron considered it, there had only ever been Wizard's Chess that he did better than Harry Potter — but he liked to believe there were some other things he'd done a better job at than his best friend. And although Ron had often told himself that friendship was not a contest, that he shouldn't feel inferior to his best friend because friends were _equals_, it still stung Ron that he had been so indubitably beaten by Harry in a contest that Ron didn't even know existed in the first place. That, more than anything, cemented Ron to his hiding spot behind the frozen trees and kept him from barging into the obviously private scene.

It wasn't even much of a scene, really. Crudely put, Harry and Hermione were just _snogging_. Not as bad as it could have been, one would think, but it was enough. Ron saw very clearly the way Hermione leaned into the kiss, tentatively at first and then all at once, as hesitant and as completely as a fall into love. Harry's hands were on her cheeks, trembling with the desperation of a drowning man who had finally been given a breath of sweet, life-giving air. And after the long kiss they looked into each other's eyes and laughed sheepishly, like the way old couples did when they did something romantic that they believed they were too old to have done.

It had been terrible to watch.

Ron was weak, he'd admit at least that much, and he was woefully inadequate when put right next to the Boy of the Prophecy: Harry James Potter. Everyone knew it, and Ron knew it better than everyone else did. And that Harry didn't even bother to compete with Ron — that he hadn't even thought of Ron as competition at all even until now — it smarted. But none of that was supposed to matter, because Ron liked Hermione. Hermione whom, to Ron's knowledge, did not garner Harry's romantic interest in the slightest. Ron was supposed to win. He thought he'd rigged this game so only he could win. Ron's triumph should have been unavoidable, inevitable. He'd been so _sure_. He knew that Hermione wasn't Harry's type.

How wrong he was.

Eventually, he decided to step out from the shadows and reveal himself. He did not know what made him decide to do so, it certainly seemed like a stupid decision after he had done it, but he stood there in front of them, didn't take a step closer or away, and waited for them to notice his presence.

It was Hermione who saw him first. "Ron!" She ran to him and for a second he imagined that this was a reunion between lovers. "We were so worried you wouldn't come back!" She trapped him in a bone-crushing Hermione-hug and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"Worried that he was dead or being tortured somewhere, you mean," came Harry's chiding voice. Ron looked above Hermione's head and at the other boy, who only met his own sorrowful gaze with a small smile. _Not even feeling guilty,_ Ron thought, trapped between emotional exhaustion and outrage. Harry Potter _knew_, knew that Ron Weasley loved — no, that was impossible, Ron had only just discovered it himself, but before then Harry at least knew that Ron _liked_ — Hermione Granger. Harry knew, and he didn't even feel guilty.

Ron was distracted by a particularly hard slap from Hermione.

"What was that for?" He cried out in genuine indignation as he furiously rubbed his left cheek.

"That," the girl snapped, "Was for leaving Harry and I... for three months."

Ron shifted, struggled to say something Ron-ish. "It wasn't that long, Hermione. And you survived, didn't you?"

"Three months!" she cried out angrily. "How could you just leave us for _three months_?"

"That's enough, Hermione," Harry whispered, his tone somber. "He's back now, and that's all that matters. Unless you're suddenly a Death Eater now?" he directed the question at Ron.

Ron frowned. _You mean if I had suddenly turned traitor? You mean if I had _betrayed_ you, the way you obviously did without any qualms whatsoever?_ "What, and get into a duel to the death with my own brothers and sister and mum and dad? No, thank you. Besides, I've only been away three months. I'm not _that_ productive."

"Or productive at all, it seems like," Hermione interjected.

"Oi!" Ron exclaimed, "I'll have you know that I finished that one essay on Essence of Nightshade all on my own!"

"Some miracle, that," Harry replied with a chuckle.

At that, they all laughed, awkwardness seemingly forgotten.

It was then that Ron decided to ask the one question he wanted to ask. "So, Harry, dating Hermione now, are you?"

Harry, upon hearing his friend's probing question, had the decency to look abashed. "It... It was a sudden thing. It's just..."

"So you _are_," Ron concluded, with no real surprise. "But you don't look like you've shagged yet, which is good, I think."

"Sh-shagged?" Harry asked, blushing and looking appropriately flustered. "What are you... why would you..."

Hermione chose that moment to interrupt, a blush on her face as well. "I think what Harry means to say is, as much as you're our best friend, whether Harry and I do _shag_ or not is really none of your business, Ron. No offence," she added as an afterthought.

"Of course it's none of my business," Ron agreed readily. His heart broke and only broke more, but Merlin forbid he let them _know_ that. So instead he smiled. "But just in case you are about to shag, please, _don't_ let me know. I don't need to know things like that about my best mate and the girl I used to be in love with."

Ron walked into the tent then, leaving both of his friends standing still with mouths agape. This, Ron thought to himself, still counted as a win. Even if it felt every which way like a loss.

* * *

**A/N: I just think this scenario was very possible. Just dumping how I see it happening if it did.**


End file.
